


A Match Made in Prophecy

by Cimorene105



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Arranged by Fate, F/M, Fate, Orphaned Belle AU, Prophecy AU, enchanted forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimorene105/pseuds/Cimorene105
Summary: The victim all her life of a prophecy written at birth, Belle tries to escape her unsavory fate shackled to a beast. Rumplestiltskin decides not to let her, simply because he feels like keeping her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may go up as the story is developed.

"Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin."

Why would any sane person summon the Dark One, the maker of illicit deals, the tinker of souls, the shadowy prankster of dread irony? They wouldn't. Belle knew she had to be insane.

That wasn't really the problem, though, Belle thought to herself in the split second she knew she barely had before her summons would be heeded. Belle's problem was that damn prophecy.

As a child, an incident with a rhyme chanted by other children had brought Belle tearfully to her father for answers to questions she didn't know how to ask.

He sighed. "I'm sorry you've found out this way, Belle."

"Found out what?" Belle asked as she wiped her shiny little face with tiny hands. "They were just being cruel because I'm different. They think I should be punished for being pretty."

"It is your destiny that makes you different, ma Belle. It is a difficult one, and has already caused you heartache. There will be more. And your beauty has nothing to do with it, I’m afraid."

Belle's father then took off the miniscule leather pouch - the one Belle kind of assumed he'd been born with - from around his neck and explained that Belle was the one born with it, in a manner of speaking. At Belle's birth, Belle's fairy godmother had seen visions of the wrinkled baby's future even before the tiny thing realized it was free from its dead mother's womb. Her father wept silently as he held his precious daughter and waited for the verdict on the future of his only family member. In the pouch was a small, rolled piece of parchment that had appeared in the fairy's hands and inscribed itself as she gasped out a name, along with the foulest nine words to ever exist:

_He may be a beast, but he is yours._

.......................................................................

Growing up, to say the least, was hell.

Friendless, and soon fatherless, Belle tried to escape from her harsh reality into class work. Though she was a stellar pupil in the village school, Belle won no favoritism from the teachers or her caretakers in the town. The other children were distant and condescending. A young, beautiful woman on her own, they say, is a vulnerable woman, and every once in a while, Belle's need to escape doubled.

Once, on her way home from school, a drunk grabbed hold of Belle's wrist as she passed.

"Pretty thing," he cooed, recognizing her. "Since you're already spoiled, there's no reason you can't be shared, eh?"

She wrenched herself away from him with a noise of desperation and fell backwards through a shop door. Stumbling from one danger to possibly another, Belle now had a new hostility to worry about. Spluttering apologies to anyone who might be in the silent building, Belle turned around and came face to face with a living pile of books. White hair sprouting from the top and leather-clad feet from the bottom, the comical character was completed by a pair of spectacles protruding from under the third book from the top.

"I can't find my glasses," the pile of books said. "Do you see them anywhere?"

"Yes," Belle said, her troubles effectively vanished and replaced by a small smile, "they're stuck in your pile of books."

"Really?" asked the voice as the books shed their hair and shoes, coming to rest on a small table. A red shirt with rolled-up sleeves and tucked into brown trousers clothed the lanky form of an older man with flyaway eyebrows that made his eyes look tiny. "The trouble with glasses is, I've only got the one pair, I really am forgetful, and I do need my glasses to find my glasses," the newly-revealed man remarked as he squinted to inspect his books and locate the copper wire frames reminiscent of his own wiry self. He plucked the troublesome glasses from their perch and replaced them on his face with a sigh of contentment.

"Why do you take them off if they're so much trouble to find again?" Belle asked, then thought for a minute. "You could get a second pair to keep in your pocket so you can always find your first pair."

The tall shopkeeper turned to Belle to answer her ("I take my glasses off to read. I've been meaning to get a second pair, but I never seem to find the time...") and she could suddenly see why his eyebrows were so big. The spectacles created the effect of a magnifying glass on the man's face, enlarging the watery, blue eyes so large that, had his eyebrows been any smaller, his face would look very strange indeed. Belle was so absorbed in wondering what the man's face would look like with glasses but with less eyebrow, or without glasses and with less eyebrow that she totally missed it when he asked her his next question.

"I'm sorry, sir, what?"

"Young lady, what can I do for you?"

.......................................................................

"Well hello, dearie, what can I do for you?"

The sound of that voice sent shivers down Belle's spine. He had arrived. She took a shuddering breath. Focus. Trick him. Belle knew she'd need all her wits for that task.

"I need to be set free from a prophecy. It's ruined my life for long enough."

"Ah, a tricky business. No two prophecies are alike, and some are nearly impossible to navigate." Rumplestiltskin's voice was high and teasing, as though he already knew how to twist the bargain to benefit him most. "How long ago was this prophecy enacted?"

Belle was instantly wary. Did he have a list of years and their prophecies in the vast wealth of information he surely had at his fingertips? How much information should she give Rumplestiltskin?

"Come now, dearie, I must have a time limit to work with. Some prophecies get stronger with age, you know."

Belle did know, which was why she was contacting Rumplestiltskin now instead of tomorrow. Some dates have power, too. "Almost eighteen years," she reluctantly admitted.

"And what, pray tell, could wait almost eighteen years to try to run away from?" Rumplestiltskin was circling her now, stalking like he knew he was her very own predator.

"If you don't already know what this prophecy says, then you're not allowed to find out. That's part of the deal." This wouldn't work if he knew what he stood to lose: his prey.

"Easy. Do you know why?" Rumplestiltskin gave a little prancing hop closer to Belle with his signature mischievous grin gracing his shimmering green features, a slight hint of malice hidden in his shining amber gaze.

Belle's heart and stomach fell into her feet. Was the air a few degrees colder? He couldn't know, could he? The prophecy wasn't exactly a secret, but would such trivial gossip really make its way to the Dark One? Or did she have it wrong? Could something she saw as idle gossip really be a momentous piece of magic, one worthy of notice by the greatest sorcerer of the age? Especially since it was about him.

Rumplestiltskin seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Belle responded in the only way her suddenly-frozen body could react: she shook her head in denial of what he would say.

The imp walked closer, a curious look on his gold-tinted face. He stopped when they stood toe-to-toe and leaned in, poised to whisper in Belle's ear.

A black-clawed finger scratched lightly at the suddenly heavy cord around Belle's neck and a fresh wave of shivering raced down her spine. Rumplestiltskin's breath ghosted over her skin for a long moment before he spoke. "I know what it says, dearie, and I know what you're trying to do." His tone was dark and intense. As soon as he'd said it, he had skipped back from her with a mad giggle and a flourish of his hands. "So, let's try to keep no more secrets from each other, shall we? The prophecy does, after all, concern me as well."

Concern? He was worried about it? The all-powerful Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, was worried? Maybe he wanted a way around the prophecy too. Maybe he was on her side. Some feeling returned to Belle's fingers and toes, and she could breathe again. Maybe she could come out of this deal unscathed.

Rumplestiltskin smiled as she looked at him again.

Or maybe she couldn't see the future, and he could.


	2. Chapter 2

The call had come. Almost eighteen years to the day, Rumplestiltskin had wondered if maybe she would call on him. She had no reason to. She should run, and hide; hide from the hideous destiny she would find in him. Almost eighteen years, Rumplestiltskin had looked for answers that would make sense to him and had fantasized about what she would look like. No matter what she looked like or what she'd been through in life however, he never could have imagined that the blue-eyed, brunette beauty in front of him would actually have the gall to call upon him, her prescribed destiny, in order to try to cheat fate.

Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure if he was more impressed or angry.

He certainly had no right to feel the amount of lust also coursing through his veins - or did he? They were fated to belong to each other, after all. Whatever that meant. The possibilities of that thought didn't quite allow him to think his clearest.

Suddenly, he decided: He was not going to give her up. She was his.

Forever.

.......................................................................

"I like books." Belle knew, even as she said it, that her hastily given answer sounded false. It wasn't, if you could compare a deep need for the safe companionship and abiding love found only in the written word to such a superficial feeling. More desperately, she added, "But I don't have any. Could I possibly look at yours? Just for a little while?"

The shopkeeper's face broke into a deeply-lined smile. He placed a hand behind Belle's shoulder in a one-armed hug and gestured grandly to the magnificence radiating from the shelves upon shelves of books.

"Let me introduce you to my best friends. I'm Avery Booker. Yes, I know, my name is quite funny. Never mind that; welcome to the best book shop you'll ever enter."

Belle grinned at the kind man as he showed her around the shop which, he explained, was the culmination of his life's work. Belle felt nothing but accepted and grateful, for the first time since her father died. As she noted the different colors and styles the pressed pages were bound in and listened to the animated chattering of the older man, Belle's eyes blurred. She raised a hand to wipe away the tears before they could fall. To distract herself from the thought of her father, she pointed to a book a little out of her reach and asked about it.

"Excellent! You've spotted a book imported from another world." Mr. Booker easily snagged the leather-bound book that was unmarked on its cover. The title page was covered in flowery script. "Chaucer is one of my favorites. He lived in a world without magic, if you can believe it. This is all poetry about his life, which he managed to make seem magical, without actually making it so. Great poets can do that: take any little mundane thing and compare it to some great cosmic mystery or other."

Belle was fascinated. "How did you get his book?"

The man tapped the side of his nose and leaned in to whisper, "A good bookseller has many secrets, just like the greatest mystery novel. Also like a novel, you have to read enough and become invested enough in the story for the answers to be revealed."

.......................................................................

"Can we still make a deal?"

Belle's knees knocked in trepidation as Rumplestiltskin gave another trilling giggle. There were an endless number of things he could do to her for asking such an audacious question. "Why in the world would I want to do that, dearie? Are you trying to get out of being mine?"

Belle felt a surge of outrage at the insinuation. Her knees were no longer knocking. Her back straightened of its own accord and she looked him in the eye to stare down the Dark One. "Yours? You think I'm yours? The prophecy says that you are _mine_!"

His tone of voice deepened to a rasping sneer. He narrowed his eyes at her as he stepped closer again. "I beg to differ, dearie. I don't know how you found out about the prophecy in the first place, but that doesn't matter. It says you're mine, and I intend to keep you."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

They both made a mad scramble to retrieve their copies of the prophecy and produce proof that the other couldn't argue with. Rumplestiltskin was quicker, having summoned his by magic. He unrolled it and thrust the parchment under Belle's nose.

" _Mine_ ," he growled. Belle's jaw dropped. Her fingers still worked to free her own prophecy, though it felt like her brain had shut down.

On the parchment, Belle read a different nine words than she had memorized from years of reading her own.

 _She may be a beauty, but she is yours_.

She couldn't believe what her eyes were reading, though she knew in retrospect that it was entirely possible. Made sense, in fact. Why shouldn't they belong to each other, if it was the prophecy's whim? Very thoroughly planned, that.

Belle's fingers finally freed the transcribed prophecy from its home hanging at her neck. Without unrolling it, she held it out for Rumplestiltskin to take. Belle snatched up his prophecy as he lowered his hands in order to take her offering.

.......................................................................

As Belle struggled through puberty, she found that she spent the majority of her time at the book store. Part of her salary for helping the owner run the store ("Can't do it all by myself; haven't the foggiest how I managed for so long...") was that she was allowed to read any of the books she wanted while she was in the store. Belle's knowledge grew, but never quite appeased her thirst. She devoured whole shelves in the pursuit of adventure she could lose herself to.

The other part of Belle's salary was a copper a day, and she eagerly saved up her earnings in the hopes of one day buying from the expensive collection of books that surrounded her.

Belle would bolt into the store to the tinkling of the bell every afternoon, straight as a shot from school. She always found boxes stacked heavily in the back near the rear entrance, where she would hang her whole weight off a crowbar to open the top ones and begin flitting about the store, stowing the new additions by author up ladder and under stack while her employer worked on the boxes on the other side of the door. They exchanged smiles and excited talk of this story or that epic as the day wore on. If a customer came in to the tinkling of the door, the shopkeeper would attend them while Belle continued her work.

She'd been working at Avery Booker's book store for a few short months when a bright morning dawned, urging Belle to smile and hum congratulations to herself, even if she suspected no one else would. On Belle's ninth birthday, she came in to work after a grey morning at school and immediately spotted the bright blue package tied with matching ribbons on the cash desk. She scarcely dared hope it was for her, but her curiosity bade her examine it anyway. As Belle read the attached tag penned with her name, a cheery, "Happy birthday, dear," from across the room startled Belle's attention away from the gift that, amazingly, seemed to be for her.

Her cheeks dimpled as Belle grinned at Mr. Booker and responded with a warm, "Thank you, sir."

"Never mind that, girl, open it!" His smile was as wide as her own. Mr. Booker wove around stacks of books to stand beside Belle as she lovingly unfolded the paper from around a - surprise - book. But not just any book.

Belle gasped as she hesitantly caressed the embossed dragon leather.

"It's my favorite. Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise..."

"I know. You've read it twice, Belle," he said with a gentle grin. "I thought you should have it if you like it as much as all that."

.......................................................................

"A beast, eh, dearie? How about that. I would think monster to be more accurate a description." Rumplestiltskin bared his teeth in a snarl made the more menacing by their discoloration.

Belle wasn't sure what to do. Her plans were ruined simply because she couldn't have known Rumplestiltskin would have a warning of her predicament. While she had been striving just to live to adulthood, apparently he'd had time enough to consider the possibilities and decide to not even bother seeking her out, for it had taken her calling to him in order to meet. Had he known all along she would? The thought filled her with indignation.

"If you're so bent on keeping me, why didn't you seek me out and claim me? Would you even have sought me if I hadn't called on you?" Belle glared at the imp.

"No." The air filled with a heavy pause as Rumplestiltskin let his face slowly spread into a wide grin while his eyes sparkled with mirth.

Belle wanted to cry in frustration. She was so stupid, an idiot, really. Why couldn't she just live her life? Did her insatiable curiosity really have to get her in so much trouble?

 _Of course_ , she replied to herself. _I'd never have really felt safe, wondering if he could come and snatch me up at any moment_.

_Well, now I've practically given myself to him. Happy?_

Ugh.

"You never answered my other question."

"To which question are you referring? You've asked a lot of them, my dear."

"Are you sure there's no deal we can make?"

"Oh, I never said we couldn't make any deal, dearie, just none that will allow you out of your fate."

Belle couldn't read the expression on his face. She eyed him with mounting trepidation. "What else can you offer me that I want?"

He trilled his maniacal giggle and in a moment of weakness, offered, "Anything." He pitied the poor young woman who would now be forever shackled to him. Perhaps giving her something else she wanted would ease his own guilty conscience.

"My freedom."

Perhaps not.


	3. Chapter 3

When Belle was old enough to read without a dictionary close at hand, she started researching. Her job was the most wonderful resource she could ever ask for, especially with the task she had set herself. As she sat on the floor between two shelves, waist-deep in books, the shopkeeper peered over Belle's shoulder in passing. He turned from the main walkway into the aisle to Belle's right.

"Legends of the Enchanted Forest, huh? I thought you were mostly interested in stories about other worlds."

Belle gave a heavy sigh as she allowed herself a moment of misery. Researching had been touch-and-go all day, never really telling her what she most needed to know. The shopkeeper poked his head around the shelf to see Belle's dejected form.

"That's a very worldly sigh for someone so young. What's troubling you, Belle?" Mr. Booker almost missed her muttered answer. He wouldn't have understood what she said unless he had, in fact, been anticipating the weighty thought on her young mind.

"Your curse, you say? It can't be that bad, dear."

Belle's head whipped around in righteous fury. He'd gotten to her. Good, Mr. Booker thought to himself. She needed the outlet. She'd been miserable for weeks researching that prophecy, not that she noticed him worrying.

"Not that bad? Try living alone with the knowledge that one day your life will be sacrificed to the most infamous creature in existence. Try being shunned and downtrodden by everyone who knows you. You try living with this curse, and then tell me it's not that bad!"

The shopkeeper sat down next to Belle - with copious groaning from his old bones - and was silent a moment. He pretended not to notice her wiping her eyes, although there was now a handkerchief on her knee that hadn't been there a moment before. Sometimes, in Mr. Booker's experience, some things needed to be said and some things needed to be read. This was a rare instance that required both. He reached over Belle to the opposite book shelf and pulled down a book of poetry. 

Mr. Booker paged through the yellowed paper and quietly began to read aloud.

 

"This poem I have written for the girl Belle on the dawn of her first day. May it show her my vision, that she may understand her future.

 

"Said the dragon to the maid,

Come

To my dark abode.

Eat

Amidst my tarnished trove.

Learn

At my demanding hand.

Stay.

 

"I'll not be your friend,

The maid replied.

Go.

Take your dreary home.

No.

Burn your human food.

Leave

With your spoken truth.

Just-

Do not burn

My village home.

Do not take

Of our innocence.

Do not rage

At my refusal.

I've my life to live.

 

"You've your life to live?

The flaming beast replied.

I'd no idea

That was the case.

Pardon me

My good intent.

Don't mind me,

Just a mindless beast.

A hideous thing

An unworthy feast

A-

 

"Stop!

The demand now came.

Enough!

With this mean tirade.

I do not refuse

On the grounds you choose.

I'm just a girl

With a girlish heart.

I've trepidation,

But compassion, too.

I wish a choice

For myself to choose.

No one decides

My fate but me.

 

"No one decides your fate but you?

A chortle came

From behind threat's teeth.

Tell me

 

Dearie

 

How's that working?

 

"The wind went out

Of the maid's full sails.

It's not,

She said. It lead me here

And I didn't have a choice.

 

"Oh didn't you, now,

Dragon replied.

But you didn't run.

You didn't hide.

 

"I tried to run.

I tried to hide.

 

"I don't believe you,

The dragon sighed."

 

Belle stared at her employer as he stared back at her.

"No."


	4. Chapter 4

"No?"

"No," Belle repeated firmly.

The shopkeeper closed the book of prophecy and replaced it on its shelf. He peered at Belle with an inquisitive gaze, waiting for her to make the decision now that would set her on the path to the rest of her life.

"That is not how it's gonna be," Belle declared, standing up and reaching for yet more books. "I'm not going to lie back and wait for this awful thing to happen to me, just because some badly-written poem says I should. I'm going to fight. I've read books about brave warriors who fight with magic, cowardly warriors that fight with swords, and surprised warriors that don't really know what they're doing. You watch me, sir, I'm going to be the first wise warrior who fights with books."

"If anyone could achieve that, Belle, it would most certainly be you." Getting up off the floor involved even more groaning from the shopkeeper than sitting down had. He pondered to himself the ways in which young, vivacious Belle might achieve her dreams of being free and whether they would be at all similar to his own.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance to you in the way these books have. It's time I told someone my story. I'm sure the day will come that I'll say I'm getting on in years and wish I had someone to whom I could pass the legacy of this shop." With one last chuckle at Belle's dismissal of her prophetic poem as 'badly-written,' Mr. Booker began to tell the wide-eyed girl trailing after him through the bookshelves the story of his life. His narration was stilted, as he often stopped to give Belle instructions or to ponder where a particular book should be placed. Mostly, Belle just took the pesky books out of his hands to absently set down so he was free to continue as she urged.

"This old shop has many secrets. You've asked, of course, how I get the otherworldly books I sell here. You might even wonder why and how we always get a new shipment of books the day after we've put them all on display. Have you pondered yet, how we have enough customers that we sell so many books? Surely there aren't people enough in our vicinity to buy as many books as we shelve a week. Apart from people like you and me whose lives consist of books, obviously."

Belle nodded enthusiastically. Mr. Booker was absolutely right. Where did their hundreds of books go? She'd never even thought of it before, but suddenly the mystery seemed ominous in its illumination. 

"Now Belle, what I am about to divulge is not like most fairy tales. I was very lucky; the deal I made worked out exactly as I desired. Hardly anyone is ever as lucky in life or in magic as that. I can still scarcely believe it even all these years later. If you ever meddle in magic, Belle, especially in your prophecy, you must know exactly what to say in order to get what you want."

.......................................................................

Rumplestiltskin cursed his moment of foolishness. This was going to get tougher before it got easier. 

"Excellent choice," he sneered. "Freedom _from_ me while still belonging _to_ me; I don't think I've ever set such a fine line in a contract." Putting on his most unsettling demeanor, the imp giggled, "Of course, never before has the prize been so fine, either."

"Was - was that an attempt at courtship?" Belle spluttered, feeling completely out of her depth and losing ground.

"Mayhap it was. Get used to it, dearie! This is the deal you want to make: Your freedom for your soul. You could still accept the prophecy as it was written and belong entirely to _moi_. Last chance!"

Belle's inner turmoil became a blind panic as Rumplestiltskin listed the terms of the deal. Sell him her soul? Was she crazy? 

 _I already had that conversation,_ she berated herself. 

_Summoning this demon was minor. Accepting his deal is the real reason you're crazy. You're giving this self-proclaimed monster your entire soul._

_I don't have a choice._

_At least you'd get something out of it,_ Belle's rational side reminded her. She took a steadying breath.

"It's a deal."

.......................................................................

 "I was desperate. An orphan like you, with not a single thing to my name but one solitary book. It was all my parents left me before they were taken from this world, and even more precious to me than the story in the book were my parents' marks in their own hand on the first page.

"It was a very scary story to a little boy, but they would read it to me at night before bed because I asked them to. I liked hearing their voices acting like different characters, and it had a lot of different characters. I liked even better when they would comfort me if I got too scared. 

"'I'ts alright, Avery,' they assured me. 'We're here to protect you from the scary parts. They can't hurt you. We'll always be in this room reading stories to you and pretending for a little while that the exciting parts could be real. We can even read a less scary story for a while, so you'll have good dreams.'

"My parents had a bookshelf with maybe thirty books that they had taught themselves how to read. I didn't understand for a long time how rare and incredible that was. I didn't realize how much their books meant to them until long after they and their books were gone.

"It was a fire - I never knew the cause - and I awoke coughing violently. My hands grasped the nearest object before I could register they had done so. All I knew was that I was in danger and I had to get out. I never saw my parents as I stood away from my blazing childhood home, but I screamed for them until my voice was only air.

"I must have fainted from exhaustion, for I awoke on the hard earth curled around the only book I had unwittingly saved from my parents' collection. 

"I spent many years asking far and wide how I could find out my parents' fate even though I knew in my heart what had become of them. In that time, I grew and learned how to live on nothing. 

"Or almost nothing. I had one book, and I learned to read it by remembering how my parents had read it to me. I earned a pittance reciting it when I traveled. I received better coin when I managed to draw a crowd through the many voices I used. 

"No one could tell me for many years how my parents had died. The quacks showed me no real magic, the magical told me I could not afford them, and the majority of regular folk had only pity for an orphan asking about magic.

"Then one day, I heard a new story. It seemed like just the kind of story I needed: It was real, it had magic, and it came with a price that anyone could pay."


End file.
